


Go Get Your Game Face On Because It's Time To Play

by revenblue



Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same (Perryshmirtz) [129]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Aftercare, Canon-atypical violence, Character Study, Fight Sex, Heinz's arms are still titanium, M/M, POV Second Person, Perry the Platypus Gets A Hug, Perry the Platypus Needs A Hug, Perry's a ball of repressed rage that needs an outlet, Safeword Use, Trust Kink, emphasis on fight, is it still hurt/comfort if one hurts and the other comforts, seriously at least half of this is aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenblue/pseuds/revenblue
Summary: "Alright, then, Perry the Platypus. Fight me," he says, like it's a challenge. Like what you just told him, the violence you're capable of, the fury you keep locked away for the good of everyone around you, doesn't scare him.
Relationships: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus
Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same (Perryshmirtz) [129]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/746841
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	Go Get Your Game Face On Because It's Time To Play

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: Blood, canon-atypical violence, some choking. Vague sex with ambiguous genitalia, feel free to read your trans headcanons into this. Established relationship, set vaguely before LDOS so they're still officially nemeses.
> 
> Heinz is using the traffic light system of safewords, red/yellow/green, because the granularity is nice and it adds some explicit consent. The safeword is absolutely respected.

"Alright, then, Perry the Platypus. Fight me," he says, like it's a challenge. Like what you just told him, the violence you're capable of, the fury you keep locked away for the good of everyone around you, doesn't scare him.

It scares _you_. All the things you know you could do if you let your control slip even one iota, your body long since forged into a weapon.

He strips in one swift movement, discarding his clothes onto the floor like they mean nothing, revealing his whole body for you. Naked, not for the first time. Vulnerable. His pale human skin is already covered in marks, bruises fading in from the earlier fight, bruises from days past, bruises _you_ put there.

Faced with the reality of what you've already done to him, you swallow down a whine. Of guilt, of want, of _pride_. Does he _like_ that you've marked him like this?

Tearing your gaze from them, as if that could silence the preening satisfaction curling somewhere under your ribs, the desire to leave more, to mark and claim and _tear_ and _shred_ until you're satisfied, you stare into his eyes. His deep blue eyes, piercing you to your core.

How can he look at you so calmly? You've _told_ him what you are, what you crave, that some part of you longs to hurt and destroy, and his only response is to offer himself up to you?

No, you _can't_. You can't do that to him. That's one of the first rules of nemesisship, that there are limits you _must_ stick to, for the greater good.

He huffs, setting his unmarked hands on his battered hips. The sight of them, visibly artificial in their perfection, tugs at your heart. How can you bring yourself to hurt him _more_ than he has been already? "Don't look at me like that, like you're suddenly all _concerned_ about hurting me, it's _unbecoming_. Just think of it as _thwarting_ me or something. I mean I'd make an _inator_ , really make it _feel_ like a thwarting, but you tend to _break_ those and then that's a whole morning's _effort_ down the drain."

Bile rises in your throat as you watch him shift his weight, scarred and bruised and so easy to break under your fists. What does _he_ get out of this?

"Wow, _rude_ , not even _acknowledging_ me. Some hero _you_ are. Come on, you know you want a piece of this _Heinz hiney_." Then he slaps his rump, the sound reverberating through the room and into your bones. "What, not even a twitch? You really _are_ closed off, sheesh! Do you need a _safeword_? Is that it? Because I _have_ one, remember? And right now I'm very much _green_. It's not just for _sex_ , not that I'm saying this _isn't_ , because it might be! You never know."

If you took him up on it, it wouldn't be just once. You know that, as well as you know yourself, this monster inside you. One taste and you'd want more, taking and devouring, insatiable. Where would it end?

His feet make no sound on the hard floor as he walks forward, taking the agent fedora from your head and tossing it to the floor beside his abandoned clothing. "There. Now you're not an _agent_ , you're _off the clock_ , so you don't have your silly little _rules_ stopping you from having any _fun_ , so. _Thwart_ me, Perry the Platypus."

You're in the air before you can think, driving a fist into his ribs, and for the first time in years you don't pull back.

" _That's_ more like it," he wheezes, staggering back from the force, then swaying forward again, on his feet. The thought takes _your_ breath away too, that he took your fist and he's _still standing_. He grins at you, eyes bright. " _Do it again_."

Refusing him is not an option, now that you know he can take it. Your heartbeat thrums in your chest as you let instinct take over. Kick, punch, claw, yank at his hair, hit him with your tail, slam him to the ground, sink your teeth in, rake your spurs across his arm. Make him hurt make him bruise make him _bleed_. You were forged from violence, a weapon down to your very bones.

That he can keep up with you is less of a surprise than it should have been. He may not be a weapon himself but he's your _nemesis_ , he's honed himself against you. No wonder fighting him makes your heart race.

There's blood in his mouth now, blood on your paws, blood dripping from his nose. Blood on your tongue, thick and coppery. You don't know if it's his or yours any more. It doesn't _matter_ whose it is, just that you can taste it, swallow it, feed the monster lurking inside you. The one put there by your training. You're not a true animal any more, not when you've been trained to think like a human, fight like a human, revel in violence like a human.

Crashing your mouth to his, you thrust your tongue between his lips, desperate for another taste. A kiss, of sorts. Payback for the swollen eye he's given you.

He moans into your mouth like he's _enjoying_ it, then bites down. Rakes his fingernails down your back, grabs at your tail with both hands, flings you to the floor. Even _that_ only keeps you down for a second or three before your racing heart pulls you back to your feet for another assault.

This time, you slam him to the ground. Panting, you pin him down, your weight on his chest.

Why isn't he _afraid_ of you? He knows what you are, what you can do, what you _want_ to do. What you're doing. Sink your teeth into his throat, feel his pulse on your tongue. It would be so _easy_ to-

"Yellow," he croaks, and you let go, stumbling back while he rubs at his neck. " _That's_ why, Perry the Platypus."

What?

Propping himself up on one elbow, he gives you a wan smile. "Why I'm not _scared_ of you. Because you _stopped_ ," he explains, his voice stronger now. "Which is _good_ , I'm _glad_ you did, I was getting a little _worried_ when you got that look in your eye- yes, _that_ one, like you think you're a- a _monster_ , but you're _not_. Trust me, I _know_ what _monsters_ look like, and _you_ aren't it."

You're _not_ a monster. There _is_ one lurking in your chest, but you keep it buried deep, chained and hungry, under your control. No, what _you_ are is a _weapon_ , to be wielded as your superiors see fit-

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about," he says with a groan, rolling onto his back, arm over his eyes. "You think you're just what _other_ people have told you to be, but you're _not_ , you're _more_ than that. You don't _have_ to listen to _them_. That's what you told _me_ , right?"

The only sound is your breathing as you stare at him, your eyes tracing across everything you've done to him, every scratch and slash and bruise, pride and shame warring in your chest. _You_ did this to him.

He snorts, waving his other hand in your direction like he's not even _bothered_. "Don't worry about _me_ , Perry the Platypus, I knew what I was getting into, believe me, I've fought you enough. _I'll_ be fine. _You_ , on the other hand, _you_ don't look so good. Do you want to _stop_? No, of course not, you're not _done_ , are you? Come here."

What can you do but obey him? You're shaking, lost, and all that _makes sense_ right now is him. Fighting him.

"Look at _you_ , so _strong_ and _handsome_ ," he says, sitting up as you approach, sounding somehow pleased. "You're so good, you know that? Good at what you _do_. Which is _fighting_ me, _obviously_ , and also-" Glancing lower, he smirks at you. "I _knew_ it was a _sex_ thing."

Now that he's called attention to it, you can feel the throb between your legs, the _want_ at the edge of your thoughts. Familiar urges. Bruise and bite and mark. Stake your claim in blood and sweat, taste them on your tongue. Make him scream your name. Fight him, fuck him, it's never mattered which as long as it's _him_. He's your nemesis, and he's not afraid. The least you could do is _believe_ him.

He reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek, and you shed your reluctance. Trust, trust is what you need now. " _There's_ my guy," he murmurs, with a scritch behind your chin. "Ready? _I'm_ green, I don't know about _you_ -"

Tackling him to the ground in answer, you wrap your paws around his throat, digging your claws in while you grind your hips against his chest, friction coursing through your veins. Nothing else matters. This is where you're meant to be, teeth bared, heart loud, paws firm, _thwarting_ your nemesis.

Eyes bright, he pulls at your wrists, just enough that you can't cut off his air completely. No other resistance.

You let out a whine, tears blurring your vision again, clinging to the trust you have in him like an anchor. That's all you can do, _trust_ him. Trust that he won't let you go too far. You don't, can't, know where the line is, not without the limits you hold yourself to, long since put aside with your fedora. You _have_ to trust him, trust that _he_ knows and can keep you on the right side of that line.

Blood drips from your open mouth, from your bitten tongue, until all you can see is bursts of bright red on his pale skin where it fell. Tears run down the sides of your bill to join them. You give him everything you are, everything you can't let show, your broken pieces, your sharp edges, your very core, pain and violence and _love_ , and he takes it all.

"I've got you," he says, voice hoarse under your paws, the sound an anchor in the swirling maelstrom of sensations, and you hold onto it with what little thought you have left. Everything else is your body responding to his in the only ways it knows how.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper, your nerves burning white-hot with an intensity that leaves you shuddering in its wake, torn open from the inside. Laid bare for your nemesis.

He catches you, when your arms give out. Holds you to his chest while you tremble, running his long fingers through your fur, murmuring something you can't make out. How can he be so gentle with you after everything you've done to him? Everything he knows you _are_ , now.

Letting out a sigh, he pushes himself up into a seated position, leaning you back against his arm for support. "Now I know what _you_ put up with," he mutters, his other thumb wiping at the corner of your mouth. "Do you really think I didn't _know_ about you _already_ , Perry the Platypus? I mean I had no idea how you _felt_ about it, but I've _seen_ how you fight." And he's still pressing a kiss to your cheek? Brushing away your tears, like he doesn't _mind_ what you are. "It's like you don't even _remember_ that time you _tore my arm off_. You're lucky I have _spares_ , you know. Anyway, I'm still _here_ , aren't I? It's not like you've _chased me off_ or anything."

For which some part of you is still grateful, underneath all the guilt. You don't know where you'd be without him in your life.

A weapon, probably. That's all you were before him, a weapon masquerading as a pet, trained to fight. To kill. No room for anything more, your feelings suppressed for the sake of your job. How many people are dead by your paws? Too many, you can't remember them all, and _he_ almost joined them. Would have, if he hadn't _stopped_ you.

"Really, you're acting like you think _you're_ the worst thing that's ever happened to me," he continues, in full monologue now. "Which you're _not_. Trust me, there's a _lot_ worse than hurting me when I've _asked_ you to. You've heard my _backstories_. Most of them, anyway. So a _boyfriend_ who gets off on _pain_ is, well, still a _boyfriend_. And a _handsome_ one at that." He kisses you again, on the tip of your bill this time, and smiles warmly when the shock of it makes you shiver. "Come on, let's get you bandaged up," he murmurs, rising to his feet. "Yes, and me too, you _did_ hit me pretty hard a few times there."

He's never treated you as anything less than a _person_. Not a weapon, not a pet, not even as an _animal_ , but a person. An equal, a _nemesis_. He loves you, intensely, and you can't help but feel the same way. Around him, you can't help but _feel_.

Setting you down on the edge of the bathroom sink, he pulls out a first aid kit and sets to work, bandaging up the wounds you inflicted, cleaning up the blood and cum and tears already drying onto the both of you. The thought churns at your stomach and he passes you a bucket without comment, barely even needing to look. Underneath all the mess he wipes off, his pale skin is mottled with bruises, more marks from your fists. "It's going to be a while before I can do _that_ again," he says, dabbing iodine on a scratch with a wince, "so I hope _you_ got what you _wanted_."

Did you? You don't know, you're still not used to _wanting_. Just orders to follow. All you can be sure of is that exhaustion weighs down your limbs, and that the monster inside you sleeps, sated for now, and that you don't know what you are without it. Is there anything left? Who _are_ you, without the roles you've been given?

"Perry the Platypus," he says, somewhere in the monologue you're too tired to make out, and that's enough of an answer. You trust him, this man you call your nemesis. Following his lead has never been in question. With a light touch, he guides your heavy limbs, shaping you in his hands, your body moving to obey him without hesitation as he tidies the mess you made of your fur, and it's as natural as breathing. As much an instinct as trusting him in the first place.

He knows you, _all_ of you, down to your very bones. The fears you bury deep, the hopes hidden even deeper. Everything you can't afford to feel lest you fail in your mission, none of it's ever bothered him, and you don't know _why_. What does he know that you don't?

Curling his hand behind your head, he pulls you into a gentle kiss, one you can't help but lean into. He's not going to run from you. "You were _doing_ it again," he grumbles, rubbing his nose along your bill. "The thing where you act like you think you're _heartless_ , but you're _not_. You _have_ a heart, a little _platypus_ one in that _chest_ of yours, I've _seen_ it. Not _literally_ , that would be _weird_ , but it's _there_ , look-" And he's taking your paw, pressing it to your chest. "Feel that? That's your _heart_ in there, you have _feelings_ , you l..."

Love him. He may have trailed off, unable to bring himself to say the words, but you know what he was about to say: that you _love_ him. And you _do_. Who wouldn't love this man, every fibre of his being buzzing with nervous energy, every movement a conscious effort to take up space, every word screamed at a world that refuses to notice him. He's everything you're not, and you admire him for it.

"So whatever it is you're thinking right now, _stop it_ ," he says, prodding at your shoulder for emphasis. "You're a- a _person _, I don't care what anyone else says. Got that? Perry the Platy_ person_, that's you."

It's an effort to swallow, the sincerity in his words sinking deep into your now unprotected heart, with your masks, your _armour_ , having long since been torn away. How could you bring yourself to deny something you both know is true? He'd only get _sad_ at you, _disappointed_ , and you can't have that.

You'll just have to give him something else to think about instead. Setting the bucket aside and resting your paws on his shoulders for support, you cup your tail around his loins with a gentle squeeze.

Letting out a groan, he grabs at the sink, one hand either side of you. "Don't think you can distract me with your, mmm, _tail_ \- I didn't say _stop_. Green, I'm _green_ , keep going," he hisses, and you increase the pace of your strokes. "As I was _saying_ before you so _rudely_ interrupted - I mean I'm _glad_ you're feeling _better_ , don't get me wrong - _you_ are more than your _tragic backstory_. Don't tell me you don't _have_ one either, we both know you _do_ , and it's a _doozy_."

Sometimes you can't help but admire his ability to keep monologuing, no matter what. But does he have to do it _now_? When you're trying to avoid this exact subject? Sliding your arms forward so you can wrap them around the back of his neck, you hold him close as he shudders against your tail.

"I mean," he continues, breathless and panting, still not _touching_ you, "what was that _earlier_ if it wasn't a _monologue_. Or as close as _you_ ever get to one, since you're _quiet_ and all. You don't, you know, _talk_. It's all _punching_ and _glaring_ and _rolling your eyes_ \- like that, see? You _did_ tell me what's _bothering_ you though, that's a start! We can _work_ with that. And _yes_ , I do mean _we_. Don't think you can _scare me off_ , either, I'm here for _good_. Not _Good_ as in, uh, Good Guy, that's _you_ , but-"

You press your mouth to his, whimpering in the back of your throat. Maybe _this_ will get him to shut up. You adore his voice but you're still _raw_ , exposed, vulnerable to his usual reproving tone. Normally you can brush it off, tell yourself he doesn't mean it, but right now, when he's keeping his distance...

Until he's _not_. One hand curls around your shoulders, holding you steady while he grows more frantic, more _desperate_. "Perry the Platypus," he mumbles into your bill, in that breathless way he gets when he's _close_ , "I'm-"

Staring into his deep blue eyes, you take him apart with your tail, unable to help your smile as he trembles, still braced against the sink. He _trusts_ you. Always has, and you can _see_ that now, your heart lighter than it's been for a long time. That's why he's still here, why he's let you do all this to him. He's seen what you are, deep down, all the worst parts of you, and he still believes you're more than that.

Are you? _Could_ you be, for him? The last thing you want to do is let him down, not _now_ , not when he's given you so much. Not when his eyes are shining with what you can only assume is _love_. What else could it be, when he's clinging to you like this?

His breath catches in his throat and you chirr softly, knowing your voice will pull him over the edge, with you here to catch him. You always will, as long as he needs you to.

That much is obvious now, as he shivers in your arms, sweat dampening his bare skin. You trust him, he trusts you. It only took him pushing you, _fighting_ you, for you to stop holding back and give him your all. Is _that_ what his plan was? Because if so, it's a _hell_ of a scheme. You're impressed.

Then again, this is your nemesis, you're always impressed. Between his relentless determination to survive and the shockingly poor reasoning with which he usually goes about his scheming, you're always in awe of this man.

"You're _definitely_ feeling better," he mumbles, his fingers flattening a patch of fur on your shoulder before sliding up to the back of your neck. "Less _tense_. Which is _good_ , it _suits_ you. Even if you _did_ punch me in the face more than usual. But hey, I don't mind, that's just _you_ , you know? My _nemesis_." Shifting his weight, he braces himself against you, face pressed into your fur, and reaches down to run a damp cloth over your tail. "Thank you, Perry the Platypus. For, uh, for _trusting_ me."

Twisting your paw into his messy hair, you nod, filling your lungs with his familiar scent. The feeling's mutual. He's your anchor, now more than ever, his presence and his _trust_ a constant you can rely on when the violence you're capable of threatens to consume you. And you love him for it.

With a soft exhale, he massages his fingertips into your stiff neck, setting the cloth aside. "You're not going to let me go, are you." It's barely a complaint, let alone a question, because you both know the answer already.

You shake your head. If he minded, he would have said so.

"Fine, but I need to sit down, my back is _killing_ me," he says, holding you to his chest once more as he rises to his feet. "I'm glad you're, you know, that you feel _safe_ here. With _me_. We have a good thing going, don't we? Again, not _good_ as in Good Guy, but- You get the idea."

If that idea's that he's still attached to his self-image as an evil scientist then yes, yes you do. You can't blame him for wanting that stability. After all, you do the same thing with your role as an agent.

Limping slowly to another room, he lays back on what you can only assume is a couch and arranges you on his chest, brushing his thumb over your cheek. A fond gesture, and you can't help but lean into it. He loves you. No matter what, how many bruises you give him, how many of his scars come from your claws, he will always love you. That much has become obvious from your nemesisship, even if you forget sometimes. Does it _matter_ that you're capable of this much violence when he loves you this much?

You love him too. Of course you do, this man who knows you so intimately, who's seen behind your the façade you put up and isn't scared of what he's found there. He's brilliant, albeit misguided at times, with a passion that carries you along in its wake and so, so much love to give.

That's why you're here, in his arms, as naked as he is, your fedora and your masks both set aside. Because he asked you to, and how could you refuse?

Tucking your head under his chin, he lets out a contented sigh. "Would it help if I cursed you? You know, make it a _proper_ thwarting. Because I can," he mumbles, like it's _enough_. Like it's the same as the controlled violence you inflict on him on a regular basis.

It's _not_ , but he doesn't seem to mind, pressing a kiss to your forehead. What were you so scared of?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Violence Fetish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_Ahb9Oq9qw) by Disturbed, which is... fitting. You know, considering.
> 
> Perryshmirtz server in series description, come join us! (Even if only to watch me avoid working on my Perryshmirtz Week fics despite the impending deadlines. :P)


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